


stranger in her skin

by rudderless in an ocean of stars (indelibly_ellie)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Drug Abuse, F/F, Feels, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lena's Childhood, Lena-centric, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, and yeah, basically every shitty thing happens, character tag will be added when Kara is introduced to the fic, sad shit, she's gay, teen!Lena, the usual recipe, who knows - Freeform, will she end up with Kara though?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelibly_ellie/pseuds/rudderless%20in%20an%20ocean%20of%20stars
Summary: "She is fourteen the first time she tries to run away.It's not something she plans- she just walks out of the house one day and doesn't feel like coming back."Lena-centric fic set during her childhood. Basically the teen!Lena growing up fic you didn't ask for and got anyways. :)STATUS: May 13, 2017 - Chapter Two UP!





	1. i. familiar things

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't checked the tags, this story contains mentions of self-harm.
> 
> Read at your own risk.

She is fourteen the first time she tries to run away.

 

It's not something she plans- she just walks out of the house one day and doesn't feel like coming back.

 

The cops pick her up just before she gets to the bridge. The older one tells her she had the 'look of a runner' with something almost akin to apology gleaming in his eyes, set deep in the crags of his weathered face. Her mind tries to process this- what kind of look-

 

Then it hits her, even harder than the look of remorse in the eyes of the cop who tucks her into the backseat of his car.

 

The look of the _hunted_.

 

She doesn't tell them her name, doesn't tell them much of anything, so they send her to a shelter where the showers are like coffins and the food tastes like wet cardboard. It's lucky she'd brought her school backpack- she's got several changes of clothes tucked into the drawstring bag she usually stuffs gym clothes in. They put her on the same schedule as the other kids- three meals a day, school hours, prescribed times for showering and going to bed.

 

And therapy.

 

Every day, once a day, in big group sessions led by a woman who is obviously sticking around for no other reason besides collecting her paycheck. She might have wanted to help kids like them once, but that time has long since passed.

 

Lena speaks when spoken to, answers questions when asked, shoves the bare minimum of food down her throat so as to avoid getting into trouble for not eating. The other kids ask her what they should call her and she tells them 'Ellie.' She picks the name at random, and gives a tight-lipped shake of her head when the watching staff ask her if it's her real one.

 

A church group visits on her second day at the shelter. They come bearing edible food and too-wide smiles, all too eager to convert these 'lost souls' to the path of God.

 

Had Lena not been desperate for a taste of something other than the crap the shelter passed off as food, she wouldn't have bothered to participate. She gulps down as many cups of clean water and soda as she can get her hands on and stuffs handfuls of chips down her throat as the leader of the group shouts what he must have thought was an inspiring speech at them.

 

Everything goes well until it doesn't.

 

One of the church's more eager members tries to lay hands on one of the other kids for prayer- a girl, Riley, with blue streaks mixed into her pale blonde hair and more issues with physical contact than anyone Lena's ever known in her life, _including herself_ \- and the barely suppressed tension in the room explodes.

 

She screams, kicking and flailing, " _Get off me!_ "

 

The shelter staff tries to calm the situation before it gets out of hand, but it's too late.

 

Will- a slender, muscled boy with cold blue eyes- leaps out of his seat and rushes to Riley's aid. Nearly every other kid in the room follows suit. Even Lena is dragged into the chaos- but six years of defensive training weren't bought and paid for by her family for nothing.

 

It ends with police interference, early bedtime, and the threat of court appointments the next day for participants in the riot.

 

Lillian comes to pick her up a day and a half later- the workers tell her that one of the officers who'd been sent to respond to the riot had recognized her from the picture the Luthors had provided the police.

 

They tell her she is lucky to be going home, lucky to have such a beautiful home to go back to. They ask her why she felt the need to run away from a life of such luxury.

 

She says nothing in response. 

 

It's not as if any of them are capable of understanding.

 

The grip Lillian maintains on Lena's upper arm as they walk outside to waiting car is bruising, but Lena keeps her mouth shut and follows silently. She can feel the stares of the other kids on her back as she's led away, knowing they can see her mother's designer clothes and expensive jewelry, knowing that they wonder how a girl like her could end up here.

 

Riley brushes past Lena on her way out, exchanging furtive glances with the other girl as she slips something into her hand. The corners of the Icelandic girl's lips tilt upwards in a smile as she lets go of Lena's hand. Her mother doesn't notice.

 

Lena stuffs whatever Riley has given her into her pocket without even checking what it is. Better to wait until she's alone to look.

 

Lillian pushes her towards the stairs the minute they enter the house, business as usual. "Take a shower. I'm sure you must be filthy. Come down for dinner as soon as you're dressed."

 

Lena nods in response, glad for the lack of reprimand. She can't bring herself to speak. It's like being gagged, coming back here.

 

The Luthor household has taken as much as they've given in the years since they took her in.

 

She's barely reached the top of the steps when Lillian calls out after her, "Be sure to wear something nice. We have guests."

 

Of _course_ they have guests. It can't be a coincidence- being taken from the shelter the same day as some fancy dinner.

 

Lillian must have known where she's been the entire time.

 

Lena should be pissed, but she can barely summon the energy to listen, much less care.

 

So she does the one thing she's been trained to do since the Luthors took her in- she obeys.

 

It's only when she's begun stripping her clothes that she feels the little lump in her front pocket, remembers Riley slipping something into her hands as she'd left.

 

'Something' turns out to be a little scrap of paper, folded so many times that it takes Lena a minute of careful wrangling to open it without tearing the delicate material.

 

In flowing, elegant script-

 

_You are not alone._

 

_anaturalphenomenon@waynemail.com_

 

Lena smoothes out the piece of paper until it lies flat and tucks it into the top drawer of her desk before she heads for the bathroom, a small smile gracing her lips.

 

Lena welcomes the scalding temperature of the water, relishes the heat she can feel all the way down in her bones- after days of lukewarm showers in dingy stalls, the pressure jets and impeccably polished tiles of her own bathroom are heaven.

 

She scrubs at her skin until it's nearly raw, shampoos her hair twice before conditioning, basks under the warmth of the water until her fingers prune- and finally, she musters up the energy to drag herself out of the shower.

 

The dinner goes well enough- but with Lex in Metropolis for college, the attention of her father's business associates is turned on her instead.

 

She's done as Lillian asked, and wears a pretty emerald blouse that she knows will bring out the striking color of her eyes, pairs it with dark slacks and strands of pearls at her wrists and throat. Her eyes are lined with hints of kohl, her lips are tinted a girlish pink, and her dark hair has been brushed until it gleams in the light of the chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the dining room.

 

Tonight, Lena Luthor is the picture of elegance.

 

Grim approval glimmers in the depths of her mother's eyes from across the table, and the expression makes Lena's hands clench in her lap.

 

Her nails, long from going uncut during her stay at the shelter, dig into the delicate flesh of her palms with ease, the skin of her hands softened by years of expensive lotions and creams.

 

On the surface, she smiles prettily at the men in suits whose names she will not bother to learn, but under the table, Lena _bleeds_.

 

Afterwards, she locks herself in her bedroom and wanders into the bathroom to stare at herself in the mirror.

 

The girl who stares back is a stranger.

 

Lena takes her apart, piece by piece, washing her face clean of makeup and stripping down until she's left standing there in nothing but her underwear.

 

Thin, white scars cover the tops of her thighs and curve of her hip. She traces them with her fingers, scrapes the raised ridges with her nails.

 

This, she recognizes.

 

This, she knows.

 

Almost robotically, she finds her way back to the dresser across from her bed and retrieves the hidden box of blades in its drawers before heading back to the bathroom.

 

The first time she had cut, she cried. Lena was all of eleven, but the desperation in her veins had overcome the fear in her brain when she'd raised the blade to her skin.

 

She doesn't cry anymore. 

 

Standing in front of the mirror, using her reflection to guide the path of the blade's edge across her skin, a part of her wonders if she even _can_.

 

Another part of her scoffs and wonders if it even _matters_.

 

Blood begins to drip down her legs, smearing across the tiles, warm against her cold feet, and her mirror-self's mouth curls up into a twisted smile.

 

This, she _recognizes_.

 

This, she _knows_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and the Queen of Angst returns to claim her crown.
> 
> Did anyone catch that Sense8 reference? ;)
> 
> Leave a review, hug lil' Lena Luthor.


	2. ii. rabbit hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dark themes and content ahead. You have been advised.

Lena turns fifteen the same year she meets Veronica Sinclair.

 

It's her first day of class at the academy her parents had decided to ship her to just after middle school, and Lena finds herself hopelessly lost on the sprawling campus when she runs right into another student.

 

She's a beautiful girl, with striking almond eyes and crimson-painted lips that seem to perpetually be on the verge of breaking into a mischievous smile.

 

She laughs off the accident with a wave of her hand, helps Lena pick up her scattered books and find her way to the labs. They're just coming up on the entrance when she stops, pulls Lena to a halt right beside her, and introduces herself.

 

"I'm Veronica, by the way. Veronica Sinclair." The smile she levels at the youngest Luthor is nothing short of utterly _wicked_. "But you can call me Roulette."

 

It's an odd nickname, and Lena's never been one to leave a question unasked. "Why 'Roulette'?"

 

"Come to my party tonight and you'll find out." Something dark glimmers in the depths of Veronica's eyes, and realization dawns on Lena in a heartbeat.

 

This girl is trouble.

 

This girl is dangerous.

 

This girl is exactly the kind of girl her mother would hate.

 

And perhaps that's exactly why Lena does what she does next.

 

She smiles back.

 

"I'll be there."

 

Months later, Lena will look back and be able to pinpoint this as the exact moment her world began to fracture.

 

Lena learns a lot from Veronica throughout the year- how to pick locks, break curfew, and sneak off-campus, among other things.

 

But of all the things she learns, there is only one lesson she regrets.

 

The night of the party, Lena Luthor learns exactly what it feels like to get _high_.

 

* * *

 

Everything just feels so _warm_.

 

It's like a weight has been lifted from Lena's shoulders- every horrible, anxious thought she's ever had is slipping farther and farther away with each passing second.

 

For once, there's no nagging voice in her head reminding her of the fact that her last name will probably define her more so than anything else she is or ever makes of herself.

 

Veronica's hand on her arm pulls her out of her thoughts and sends a fresh jolt of heat through her veins. She looks up in time to catch sight of the cat-like grin that spreads across Veronica's cherry-red lips.

 

"Come on, Lena. Let's go for a swim." The spark in her eyes is contagious, and Lena finds herself being pulled off of the couch and towards the back door into the yard before she can even think of voicing a protest.

 

The other girl wastes no time in stripping down to her underwear and stepping into the water. Lena freezes in place like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi truck.

 

"What are you waiting for, Luthor? An invitation?" She rolls her eyes and turns until Lena's facing the back of her head. "There, you prude. Now that I'm not looking, will you take your clothes off and get _in_ already?"

 

Lena laughs, and the sound surprises her. It's rich and warm and _sincere_ , something that's been rare since her mother's death- the real one, who had loved and cared for her as a person, not a thing.

 

It doesn't take her long to follow suit, tossing her bundled clothes onto a nearby chair and slipping into the pool right alongside Veronica.

 

The water is cold, but Lena still feels so blissfully warm that she barely notices. Veronica takes her by the hand and leads her further in, until they're standing nearly shoulder-deep in the water, mere inches apart.

 

This close to Veronica, Lena can practically count every lash that frames her doe eyes. Still, she leans closer, emboldened by a curious mixture of oxycodone and alcohol, until their lips meet, and the world turns starry behind her closed eyes.

 

She knows Lillian would think about this, what she would say, but none of it matters.

 

Right here, right now, the only thing that matters in Lena's mind is how _good_ it feels to have Veronica's mouth on hers.

 

Gentle hands cup her cheeks as Veronica's tongue brushes the seal of her lips and Lena mouth falls open with a low moan as she leans further into the kiss.

 

She wants this- this joy, this warmth, this _rush_.

 

Lena loses herself in the feel of Veronica's hands brushing against her skin, cupping the curve of her jaw, tracing the slope of her neck. Her heart _pounds_ in her chest, and she can almost hear the rush of blood through her ears. The sounds of the party fade around them as Lena's senses all hone in on the person right in front of her.

 

For the first time in years, Lena Luthor feels _alive_.

 

Then Veronica's hands stray further down, her fingers nearly brushing against the scars that line her hips, and Lena is pulling away so quickly that she splashes water on them both.

 

"I'm sorry- I just-" The warmth running through her veins fades, and the ever-familiar emptiness starts to creep back into her bones. "This was a mistake. I'm sorry."

 

She wades to the edge and pushes herself out of the water, careful to keep her scars out of sight and her back to the pool as she makes her way to the chair that holds her clothes.

 

Veronica calls out from behind her, and Lena struggles to get herself covered before the other girl can make it out of the pool.

 

"Lena, what's wrong?" Her voice is _soft_ , so soft that Lena almost considers stopping, almost considers explaining herself. Almost considers telling the truth.

 

But she glances down, and the sight of the scars that tarnish her otherwise flawless skin make her cheeks burn with shame. She shimmies into her jeans and top and darts back into the house, vanishing into the crowds of partygoers as she makes her way to the exit to do what's been done to her so many times that she's lost _count_ -

 

Lena leaves.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, having safely retreated to the house on campus that her parents had insisted on paying for instead of a regular dorm, Lena finds her way to the bathroom.

 

There's still hints of steam clouding the mirror from the shower she'd just taken, and she grabs a nearby washcloth to wipe it away before tossing the scrap of fabric into the laundry basket and peering into the freshly cleaned surface. Her reflection gazes sullenly back at her, the high of the oxycodone long gone from her system, along with the warmth she'd relished having in her veins.

 

For several brief hours, she'd been happy. Happier than she's been in the years since she became on orphan. Happier than she's been in the years since she became a Luthor.

 

With nothing on but a tank top over her underwear, the majority of her scars are visible.

 

Veronica's voice echoes in her mind.

 

_Lena, what's wrong?_

 

Something inside of her twists at the memory, tearing open a barely clotted wound.

 

 _Wrong_.

 

The word makes Lena cringe, hands curling into fists at her side as she looks away from the mirror. 

 

This is what's _wrong_.

 

Normal kids don't have scars covering their skin like fucking claw marks out of a horror film.

 

Normal kids don't walk out of their houses and not feel like coming back.

 

Normal kids don't dig their nails into their palms until they bleed.

 

She is what's _wrong_.

 

Normal kids are supposed to be happy.

 

Normal kids are supposed to want the things she has.

 

Normal kids are supposed to be grateful for the things she has.

 

Everything is just _wrong_.

 

Normal kids aren't supposed to want to disappear.

 

Normal kids aren't supposed to lie awake at night wondering if they'll need to buy new blades soon.

 

Normal kids aren't supposed to slice open their skin so they can feel something other than _empty_.

 

Lena is supposed to be normal.

 

Better than normal, even.

 

Lena is supposed to be exceptional.

 

That's what her parents money should have bought and paid for after all these years of tutors and special classes and expensive schools.

 

So why does it feel like she's anything _but_?

 

Lena shuffles out of the bathroom without looking back up at the mirror, fingers tugging the edge of her top down as far as it will go to cover her marred skin.

 

She goes to sleep under a mound of blankets, but nothing comes close to the feeling of total, absolute warmth that the pills had granted her earlier. 

 

Lena thinks that nothing ever _will_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah- that was dark. Sorry. Lena's tragic backstory is gonna be exactly that- a tragic backstory. But hey- who appreciated lil' gay Lena coming out to play? :D 
> 
> Leave a review, adopt Lena Luthor.


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